


Stasis

by lovedsammy



Series: War Of Hearts [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Negan needs his own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovedsammy/pseuds/lovedsammy
Summary: A reprieve from the war affects both sides after Carl is injured during the attack in Alexandria. It leaves everyone rethinking everything, and questioning all that they’re fighting for.





	Stasis

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to apologize first and foremost for the wait. I’ve been binge watching The Punisher/Daredevil and so writing took a backseat for a little bit in order for me to relax and recover from sickness. This part contains some elements from the comics, as will the rest of the story from here on out, but it’s also still very much AU. I’m also debating about incorporating things such as Negan’s imprisonment, but I’m undecided on that at the moment. If I choose to go in that direction, it will be still be different from both the comics and the TV series. I also need the opinion of my readers: would you prefer this story to remain as it is with the Carl/Negan relationship, with only hinted at sexual/romantic undertones and a father/son dynamic or would you like it to go further? I’m not planning on ending this series any time soon, and could make it go further, but it all depends on what my readers want.
> 
> Also, I have a playlist for this series on Spotify labeled under "War Of Hearts Series" so feel free to listen to that if you wish. A lot of the songs inspired this fic and continue to do so. I hope you enjoy!

In the dark bliss of unconsciousness, Carl dreams.

He remembers.

He remembers, but it’s as though he’s reliving the moments apart from himself, and yet he’s also still very much connected to them. It’s comparable to watching a movie that he’s seen a hundred times; he knows it by heart, knows it like the back of his own hand, but he’s viewing it through a different set of lenses. He knows what comes next, but there’s an uncertainty, an anxiousness, to knowing what’s coming in hindsight.

He’s seven, and he hears his mother’s voice at his ear gently shushing him while his dad carries him in his arms. He remembers the bright fluorescent lights and the smell of hand sanitizer and sickness as his parents rush him into the emergency room. He’d accidentally hit an uneven curb while riding his bike and catapulted into the air, landing hard on the concrete below. He’d screamed from both the shock and the pain until his parents found him. The doctor that’s been assigned to him checks him over, tells them that he’s fractured his arm. From how badly it hurts, Carl is sure that she’s wrong and that it’s really broken. The snot is sticky from where it’s pooled under his nose due to how hard he’s been crying. He knows he’s being a big baby, but it hurts so much, and he doesn’t understand what the doctor means by ‘fractured.’ The word is scary sounding, and he doesn’t know what it means. Terrified, he turns wide blue eyes to look at his dad.

“Is that - is that worse than being broken, dad? Does that mean they have to cut it off?”

Rick’s hand brushes through his hair, soothingly. “No. No, son, they don’t need to do that.”

He remembers the nice doctor’s laughter, remembers her shaking her head when he looked at her. “No, no, your dad’s right, we don’t need to that, sweetie, I promise. It’ll be just fine, you just need to keep it in a sling for a few weeks so it can heal, okay? I’m sure your mom and dad will take good care of you and make you feel all better.”

He remembers the popsicles she gave him after for being such a good boy, and the wonderful taste of strawberry on his tongue. Having a fractured arm suddenly didn’t matter after that, if it meant he got good-tasting sweets out of it.

He remembers lying on the cold ground, but now Negan’s belt is wrapped tightly around his bicep and he feels the blood inside him pooling to the source of the tourniquet. He remembers the hatchet being raised in the air with his dad’s fingers clenched around the handle, ready to sever the appendage from his body. He remembers Negan’s cold voice from above him.

_ “Cut your son’s left arm off right on that line.” _

As he lies there, he thinks that maybe his father and the doctor had it wrong, after all. He was always going to lose his arm. It just hadn’t been time yet.

He remembers being twelve and bedridden in Hershel’s house, his abdomen searing in pain from where the bullet has pierced his flesh. He blearily opens his eyes and looks over and sees his father sitting in a chair beside him, dozing lightly.

“Hey, dad.”

His father stirs when he hears Carl’s voice, and smiles at him tiredly.

“Hey.”

He was just like his dad now. They’d both been shot. When he announces that, his dad laughs, but Carl can tell that the whole incident has rattled him. But he’s tried to stay strong for Carl, and Carl has never loved and respected his father more. Something changes between them that night, Carl knows. He’s not a little boy anymore, and Rick knows it too. His father hesitates just slightly, with the brown sheriff’s hat clenched between his fingers, before he reaches over to place it on the boy’s head. It’s too big for him. It tilts over, and Carl giggles. Rick promises that they’ll adjust it so fits better tomorrow. But it provides the boy with a sense of security, of familiarity and his father’s easy presence, and so he falls back asleep into peaceful dreams with it perched over his eyes.

He remembers waking up in bed again, but with something feeling different about it in a way that scares him. When he cracks his eyes open, the hat is gone but something is still obscuring his vision, or at least half of it. He can’t see right. A panicked noise comes from his throat that he doesn’t realizes he’s made, and he reaches up to immediately swipe at the eye that feels like it’s covered.

Someone’s hand catches his wrist, and the alarm only settles when he realizes it’s his father, hears his voice talking to him softly, cautiously, like one might a wounded animal. “Don’t, Carl, don’t touch it. It’s okay, you’re okay, but you’re hurt.”

Not understanding, he looks down at his arm. It’s still there, and it doesn’t hurt.

Neither does his side.

It’s his eye that does.

The eye he used to have. It becomes clear without anyone having to tell him anything. He knows it’s gone.

When the tears come, they come from the good eye, but there’s a stinging sensation where the other one used to be, like his tear ducts are still trying to work even without the eyeball being there. Michonne comes to visit him, bringing Judith with her, and both she and his dad soothe him until he uneasily falls back asleep once more, dreaming of blood and a mother’s humming melody now long gone.

-

The next time he awakens, it is with ‘you are my sunshine’ still echoing in his ears. For a second, he almost calls out for her, his mother. He stares up at the ceiling, or what he thinks is  a ceiling, and it takes what feels like a long time for him to remember that she’s dead. It takes even longer for him to realize that he’s in a room that he doesn’t recognize. It’s too elegant to be in Alexandria, so he reasons that he must be at the Hilltop. But he’d never been at Hilltop for more than a few moments, only visited it once. It makes no sense for this to be in his memories.

He was no longer dreaming. Or remembering.

He was awake.

He blinks against the last remnants of sleep, turning his head to the side, and finds that the action itself feels heavy, like his body is made out of iron instead of flesh and bone. He’s unsurprised to find that his father is seated in a chair beside him, his big hand entwined with Carl’s smaller one. It’s a constant that he can always rely on. No matter what, no matter how and when he gets hurt, his dad will always be at his side when he wakes up. Rick looks like absolute shit, Carl thinks, tired and emotionally drained. But any sign of drowsiness fades when realizes that Carl is coherent and looking at him, and he smiles just like that day almost three years ago, and just like that night only months ago. Many things had changed about his father, but the smile when he looked at Carl was still the same.  

“Hey.”

“Hey, dad,” The teen croaks, and it’s uncomfortable because his throat is scratchy and he’s very thirsty. Luckily, Rick seems to understand what he needs and reaches for the glass of water on Carl’s bedside table. He raises it to Carl’s lips, and the boy drinks greedily, enjoying the sensation of the cold water as it runs down his aching throat. Once he’s done and drained the glass entirely, Rick sets it back down and swipes his hand across Carl’s forehead, moving his bangs away from his face.

“How’re you feeling?”

Like breaking through a fog, Carl becomes aware of the intense throbbing pain at his side, and he winces, glancing down. His abdomen is wrapped in bandages and goes over his left shoulder, reminiscent of a sling. There was still a small bit of dried blood on them. He subconsciously runs his fingers across it in order to soothe it, or to make sense of it. He doesn’t know. But he remembers being stabbed.

“It hurts,” He croaks. “But I think getting shot the first time hurt worse.” He attempts to sit up, but can’t get his body to cooperate. He’s grateful for his father’s assistance again when Rick wordlessly gets up to help him, maneuvering him into a sitting position as painlessly as possible. Which, given his situation, isn’t painless at all.

“Easy, Carl,” Rick tells him when Carl gives a particularly loud hiss. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. For a while, I - we didn’t think you were gonna…” He pauses thickly, swallowing back emotion. “Well, for a while, we didn’t know what was gonna happen. Doctor Carson got here just in time. He saved you.” 

Carl’s brow furrows in confusion. “But... I thought Negan took him back to the Sanctuary? He got away?”

“Yeah. He said Eugene helped him escape. I don’t know if - ”

The mention of Eugene has Carl recalling all that had transpired back in Alexandria, and he shakes his head, cutting his dad off. The action makes him dizzy. “Wait, dad, what happened back home? Is everyone okay? Judith… is she?”

He’s scared of the answer, but he needs to know.

“Everyone’s okay. Judith’s okay. No one’s hurt, I promise.” Rick quickly assures him. A grim expression settles on his face, though, which tells Carl that not everything was all right. His dad sighs. “After  _ it _ happened...Negan killed the man who hurt you. He beat him to death right in front of us and told his people to clear out. After that, he just took off. Rosita said that he mentioned something about a 24 hour ceasefire, but I wasn’t paying attention at the time. Michonne and I were too focused on you. Either way, all of us got out. We got a couple of cars and drove as fast as we could to Hilltop. Before we left, we went to the infirmary to try and stop some of the bleeding, and it helped until we got here. If we hadn’t...”

Carl squeezes his dad’s hand in comfort, hating seeing him this upset. “Thank you, dad,” He whispers gratefully.

Rick just smiles at him in that way that only his dad could, and Carl finds solace in the fact that even though he was so much older now, it still managed to settle him like it did when he was really little. His father speaks again.

“As soon as we got here, Carson had already gotten back. He had to do surgery to stop the bleeding, and make sure nothing internally was damaged. I had to give some blood a few hours ago, and I’ll probably need to give some more here soon.” Rick clears his throat, caressing the side of Carl’s hand. “Do you need anything? Food, water? Do you want me to tell everyone that you’re awake, or do you wanna sleep some more?”

Carl’s stomach rumbles and he scoffs back a laugh. “Some food sounds nice, and I’d like to see Judy and Michonne if they’re awake,” He says. “Maybe some of the others, too. I’m still a little tired, but I don’t want to go back to bed right now.”

Rick nods and slowly gets to his feet, patting Carl’s leg as he does. Carl realizes that his father is a little unsteady himself, probably from the transfusions, and feels a pang of guilt. “I’ll get on that, then. Maggie had the cooks make up some of your favorites from what they had in the kitchens, so I’ll be right back.”

After his father disappears out the door, the boy takes a moment to think, to take in the fact that he was still alive. He’d thought for sure he’d been a goner back in Alexandria, had prepared for it, even. He’d been scared, but had tried to be brave for his father, for everyone. He hadn’t expected to live, and the fact that he was still here had him thanking whatever was out there in the universe that had saved him again. He didn’t really believe in a God, necessarily, not like he had when he was little, but he still thought something, somewhere, was watching over what remained of humanity. He still believed that some type of afterlife existed, because he had to. What was the point otherwise? What was the point of everything, of anything, if it all just ended after that? It had taken him a long time, especially after his mother’s death, for him to believe in anything at all again.

His faith in people, in humanity, that there was still good out there, was beginning to shift, too. Before Negan, he’d believed that good people still existed. After Glenn and Abraham’s brutal murders, after Olivia, and Spencer, and Sasha… that belief had been shaken. All he’d felt since meeting Negan was anger, hatred, and an overwhelming desire for revenge, to make the man suffer. His meeting with the middle-eastern man out near the highway had him already rethinking things. But now his latest encounter with Negan had him really pondering it.

There was something humane still within Negan. He had the potential for redemption. It wasn’t too late for him to change. Carl had seen them, the few and far between moments that Negan showed some type of humanity, but they were there. The look on Negan’s face when Carl had stood before him, ready to die, had made Carl realize that perhaps it was him inspiring this change within Negan. It had the boy curious, wanting to desperately know the answer. He wanted to see Negan, to talk to him again and coax the answer out of him, because it was driving him crazy. There were so many opportunities for the man to kill him, only for Negan not to. More than that, to outright refuse to do it. He knew that Negan saw him as some sort of surrogate son, as the child he wished he’d had, that much was clear. But Carl was starting to think it was something much more than that. If anyone could encourage Negan to change, maybe it could be him. Maybe he could put a stop to this war entirely, and all he’d have to do was get himself alone with Negan again.

His dad and the others would never approve such a thing, though. They’d never let Negan anywhere near him or him near Negan again if they could help it. Not after what just occurred in Alexandria. He had to convince them that Negan wasn’t a threat to him, that for some weird reason he was the man’s weakness. He could end this war single-handedly, without bloodshed.

There was the potential for peace, a real chance, and he needed to try. If not for himself or Negan, then for everyone else.

A soft knock at the door interrupts his thoughts and Michonne enters, pressing her fingers to her lips when her gaze lands on him. Her voice is a hoarse whisper when she speaks, like she’s barely holding it together. “Oh, Carl...”

He’s never been happier to see her. He has to fight against the tears threatening to well up. “Hey, Michonne.”

She eases herself down at the end of the bed near his feet, taking him in. She reaches over to place an affectionate hand on his ankle, rubbing soothing circles there. “So I gotta ask. If your dad is the leader, does that make you Lieutenant Carl now?” She jokes, choking back a laugh, which is probably for her own benefit as much as it is Carl’s, but he grins at her. She always knew best how to make him smile, despite the fact that she didn’t believe it.

“How are you doing?”

“All right, I think,” The boy says. “It doesn’t hurt too bad, only when I try to move a lot. How are you?”

She exhales slowly. “I’m okay. Listen, I… I need you to know how proud I am of you, Carl. How proud and grateful all of us are. You did so good back there. Because of you, we all got out without any injuries or casualties. That kind of quick-thinking… I can’t even comprehend how you did it. You’re going to make an incredible leader someday, just like your dad.”

He feels a surge of pride at the words. “I was worried at first that you might not notice what I was doing,” He admits. “I had to take a chance, though. I couldn’t let him just hurt all of you, not when I could stop it. Especially not when it was my fault for getting caught by him in the first place.”

The smile falters from her lips and develops into a frown. “Carl -”

“No, it was,” The teen insists. “It’s true. If I hadn’t badgered dad into letting me go with him, I could’ve been there to help you. Negan wouldn’t have been able to use me to get at you. If anyone had died or gotten hurt, that would’ve been on me. I was being stupid, and you know it. Don’t try and tell me I wasn’t.”

Michonne gives him that look like she wants to argue, but after a moment appears to think better of it, lowering her eyes to the floor. But Carl knows it’s a conversation that they were going to revisit later. Once he wasn’t on bed rest anymore and fully recovered.

“Dad said Negan left after I got hurt,” He says instead. “Did he really kill the guy?”

Michonne looks back up at him and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

The confirmation of his dad’s words has Carl’s heart racing, and he wants to know every single detail that he can get. “What all happened? I figured you went to hide with the others so I didn’t see you come back.”

“I - we left the sewers to come find you,” She explains. “Daryl had Judith, and we’d gotten everyone else either out in the trucks or down there with us. Rosita, Tara, and I… we didn’t like the thought of you being alone with Negan, so we all came back up. We got there right when those Saviors surrounded you and your dad.”

Carl opens his mouth to ask more, but Rick reenters the room, carrying a tray of food. To the teen’s surprise, Jesus, Maggie, and Rosita follow in behind him, each smiling at the boy in greeting. As his dad settles the tray at his bedside table and makes it easier for Carl to get access to, Maggie crosses the room and presses a kiss to Carl’s unmarred cheek. It’s such a sweet gesture that he flushes a little, laughing. He feels like he hasn’t seen her in so long, not since Glenn. He’d been around her a little during the meet up when they’d started planning against Negan, but he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her or gauge how she was doing. Her and the baby. His eye beseeches hers, wordlessly asking what his voice cannot seem to do.

“I’m doing all right, Carl. We’re doing all right,” She tells him, giving him that adoring big sister smile that he’s come to associate with her. “Right now, let us just worry about you and getting you better.”

He nods weakly, and she squeezes his shoulder affectionately.

They let him eat in peace, with his father and Michonne helping with some of the more difficult tasks. Everyone in the room has pulled up chairs, and Carl starts to get the feeling that they’re not all just here for a social visit and to check up on him. They have questions, ones that only he can give them answers to. His suspicions are proven right when Maggie leans forward in her chair after Carl’s finished his meal, locking her hands together. She sighs.

“I know this isn’t a really great time to ask, Carl, given everything that’s happened, and especially with what you’ve been through. But we talked about it, and we agreed that we need to know. We need to know what exactly happened between you and Negan. At the Sanctuary, and back in Alexandria.”

Now his father’s gaze meets his, too. It’s almost apologetic, conflicted. “We’re only asking because he brought you back home… again. I thought for sure he would’ve killed you.” He licks his lips. “And with what you did back there, going up to him like that… I’d never been so scared in my life, Carl. Seeing you standing there with that asshole with his bat raised at you… I just couldn’t…” He pauses. “I saw something change in his eyes. He didn’t just hesitate, he refused. He stopped. Why… why do you think he did that?”

“I’m curious about this myself,” Jesus speaks up, crossing his arms and tilting his head to look at Carl curiously. “I had a hunch that maybe Negan didn’t want to hurt you, but we’d rather hear it from you before we throw the idea around.”

Carl can’t quite bring himself to believe what he’s hearing, but he supposes he should’ve been expecting it. So it was becoming obvious to everyone now that Negan’s apparent ‘soft spot’ for him was something that existed. It wasn’t just him thinking it. He shakes his head, taking a moment to think of how to even start explaining, staring down at his lap as he recounts everything.

“We wound up in the trailer together after Gregory bailed on me,” He starts, not missing the way his father’s nostrils flare at the mention of the older man. So he knew about that tidbit too, then. Good. If Gregory had come back, then his dad most likely had already dealt with him. Carl wishes he could've been there to see it. “I thought he was going to kill me, but he said he was going to keep me alive and use me as a sort of bargaining chip since he figured my dad would surrender if he returned me back home. He threatened to bomb Alexandria if I didn’t cooperate. I remembered the Morse Code we all agreed to use if we were ever in a situation that we couldn’t get out of, so Michonne could get everyone to safety. I kept him distracted, but he figured out what I was doing. He got really fucking pissed about it.”

He ignores his dad’s noise of disapproval at the swearing and continues. “So I offered to let him kill me, because I thought maybe he would leave dad and you all alone then. But… he didn’t want to kill me.”

He looks back at them all, at the people that he considers his family, and knows he can’t hide it, anymore. They deserved to know. “He wanted to take me back with him, to make me his right hand man. He wants me to be one of his. But it’s more than that, he… he told me he sees me as a sort of...son. I know that sounds crazy, but I know he wasn’t lying. He doesn’t want me dead. I was right in front of him, and the look I saw on his face is like what you said, dad. I think asking him to kill me actually might have taken him by surprise.”

The horrified expression that had been on Negan’s face, the painful rasp of his voice as he’d looked at Carl as though he’d been the one stabbed, was clear in Carl’s mind, and it sent a pang through his chest. He didn’t think Negan could ever look like that, much less at him in that way. “I don’t know why it’s me,” He whispers. “I just know that in his own weird way, he cares what happens to me.”

There’s a silence that follows the admission, and Carl lowers his gaze once more. He wrings his fingers together nervously in his lap, not knowing why, but only knowing that saying the words aloud were making him feel more anxious than if he hadn't said anything at all.

“So it's as I thought.”

Carl turns his attention to Jesus to find that the man is smirking. He chortles at the boy's inquisitive expression, shrugging. 

“You know, it’s funny. I told Rick the same thing that you’re telling us now, but I didn’t know how much of it was true, or how much of it I even believed. It was just a feeling.”

Rosita huffs, disbelieving. “This doesn’t make _ any _ sense. He threatened to  _ kill _ Carl back in Alexandria after we fought back. There’s no way he gives a shit about him.”

“Unless that was just a bluff to get me to back off,” Rick mumbles. At Rosita’s incredulous gaze, he elaborates. “I don’t know, I’ve tried to deny it, but… I’ve been there a couple of times that Negan’s talked to Carl, and I thought at first it was just him messing around with me, and with Carl. But now I’m not so sure. I don't like it, not at all, but I've got to accept that it might be the case.”

Maggie rises from her chair, pacing the room with her hand under her chin thoughtfully. “We need to start plotting our next move, and our next manner of defense. Negan’s given us a twenty-four ceasefire, but that ends tonight. He’ll be getting his forces ready to attack, which means we’ve got maybe twelve or thirteen hours to start getting ready to fight back by the time he shows up here. Maybe less.”

“Let me help,” Carl says at once. “I can -”

There’s immediate protest, most of all from his father, who raises his hand haltingly at him.

“Carl.  _ No _ .”

“He doesn’t know I’m alive, dad!” The boy argues. “This isn’t like last time, okay? I wouldn’t be trapped or alone with him. Let me get near him. I can talk to him, try and get him to stand down, put an end to this  -”

“And risk you getting hurt again, or killed? Not gonna happen. You can barely even move, there’s no way in Hell that I am letting you near him, or anywhere near this at all.” Rick counters. “You’re staying in bed, you need to rest. We’ll make sure to keep someone by your door at all times in case Negan tries to get in here. The rest of us will handle it.”

“But -”

“Don't argue with me,” Rick retorts sternly. “If he thinks you’re dead, good, let him think that. We'll use that to our advantage. If he finds out that you're alive, it won’t change a damn anything, not the outcome of this or what has to be done. Negan calling off his people is giving us time to get ready, so this is helping us. And you’ve done enough, Carl. You got everyone back home to safety, and you’ve given us a chance to get the upper hand. Your job now is to recover. We’re going to finish this, and we’re going to win. And once he’s dead, we won’t need to worry about him anymore.”

“Are we sure that we really need him dead?” Jesus asks. Everyone’s gazes fly to him with raised brows, including Carl. “I mean, think about it, Rick. If Carl’s right, maybe he’s the best shot at ending this. Maybe we should use this chance while we have it.”

Rick looks at the man as though he’s just suggested they go play hopscotch with Negan. “Are you - look, I can’t risk Carl’s safety, especially not around Negan,” The man snaps. “He’s barely been awake an hour and now we want to use him, to what, broker some kind of peace treaty with him? He’s my son, Jesus! I’m his father, it’s my job to protect him, and letting him anywhere near that fucking madman’s crosshairs  -”

“I get what you’re saying, Rick, I do, and I understand.” Jesus raises his hands placatingly. “But from an outside perspective, we need to consider it. What if Carl really is the best chance we have? What if a single conversation between them could end this for good? Is it worth not trying?”

Rick’s features harden, his eyes becoming slits. “Nothing in the world is worth my son’s _safety_. Nothing. Not even this. I don’t want to hear anymore about it, not from anyone.” He takes a few steps away from them, turns around, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs wearily, turns back, and tries again. “Listen.. It’s going to work out, okay? Somehow, it’ll all work out. But not like this. He’s going to attack us here, there’s no way around that. But we’ll be ready. We’re stronger together than apart, we always have been. Even with home in ruins right now, we’re still winning. Carl’s alive, we haven’t lost anyone else, and we’re all here, together. We can win this war. We will.”

There’s no more room for argument. This was what they were doing, and nothing was going to change his father’s mind. Carl bites the inside of his cheek tersely, somewhat frustrated. He knew it was probably going to go down like this, but the fact that it was had him feeling some kind of way about it. He wasn’t expecting them to just call off the war, to start picking goddamn strawberries with the guy, but he at least had been hoping they’d had enough faith in him to give him a chance to talk to Negan and call this off. Instead, they were going to use the fact that Negan didn't know that Carl was alive as a wild card to gain the upper hand. Carl knew he wasn't exactly in a true moment of clarity when he'd asked his dad to spare Negan. He'd thought he was dying and wanted to end things as peacefully as possible. That was probably why no one was addressing it right now. Hell, he didn't know if he'd even meant it himself. He still hated the man, but he liked him, too, enjoyed his company and how he made Carl feel like an adult, like he was an equal. His heart wasn't firmly in the 'Negan has to die' camp anymore despite knowing it was probably for the best. And any attempt to try and convince his dad or the others of that was going to take more energy than he had right now. 

After a brief silence, Maggie speaks. “Rick, you and I should probably get started on the main defense and offensive strategies. We need to get a better calculation on how many guns we have and how many can fight, since we’re a man down now. Jesus, I’ll need you to look over the vantage points and determine the best location for us to retaliate if they start shooting. We’ll figure out the rest after we determine that. Either way, this ends tonight.”

There’s another knock at Carl’s door, and a man with sandy-colored hair that Carl doesn’t recognize enters the room, carrying a bag of IV fluids and a couple of other things. He realizes that this must be Doctor Carson. When he sees that Carl’s staring at him, the man address him with a nod of his head and a warm smile.

“Hello there, young man. It’s nice to officially meet you now that you’re up. I’m Doctor Carson. You must be Carl.”

“Yeah. You too,” Carl greets easily. He already likes this guy. “Thank you for helping me. I’m glad you got away.”

Carson chuckles. “I’m glad I did too, especially so I could be here to help you out.” He says. “I don’t know how much your dad was able to tell you, but it was touch and go for a little while. You had extensive blood loss, but no major arteries or organs were punctured, so you were fortunate. The biggest problem was stopping the bleeding. Abdominal stabs can be dangerous because there’s a lot in that general area, but the wound wasn’t very deep. The only thing we need to keep an eye on now is the potential for infection, which we’ve fortunately still got some antibiotics, so I’ll make sure to add those in to anything else I give you. Are you in pain?”

Carl rubs at the bandages again, grimacing. “A little bit, yeah. It’s starting back up.”

“I figured as much. I’ll get your IV set up with some more fluids and pain medicine, then,” The doctor says kindly. “It’s on the rather strong side, and unfortunately, the drowsiness is a major side effect, so don’t fight the urge to sleep when it comes. Make sure you rest as much as possible so you can recover.”

“Okay.”

Carson sets up the fluids and injects the medicine into the IV, and Carl feels the rush of it as it enters his bloodstream. The doctor bows his head in farewell once he’s done, tells Rick that Carl was going to need one more transfusion before he could be dismissed to make their battle plans, and to call for him should Carl need anything else.

Rick and Maggie go back to discussing getting lunch so that Rick could give more blood for Carl after he’s eaten, and Carl discovers that he hadn’t even realized that Michonne left the room until she returns carrying Judith. He lights up immediately when he sees the little girl, who reaches out for him to pick her up. They settle for balancing her on his upper legs, and Carl kisses the top of her head lovingly. He plays with her hair, fiddling with the tresses between his fingers. It was getting almost as long as his was. Fuller, though, and way more blonde than his had ever been. He sees his mother in her at times like this, when she just stares up at him as if he’s her whole world. A couple of moments later, and the boy starts to feel the effects of the injection working. The pain has diminished greatly and he’s getting lightheaded.

“Whoa,” He murmurs, leaning back against the pillow. Carson hadn’t been kidding about how strong the medicine was. He feels as high as a kite. Seeing the glossy look in his eye, his father and Michonne laugh, and Jesus chuckles. Even Rosita cracks a smile.

“All right, I think we should let the poor kid rest,” Jesus grins, clapping Rick on the back.

Rosita retrieves Judith from the teen, and Carl automatically hates the feeling of emptiness in his lap that her absence creates, and tries to fight against the urge to sleep trying to beckon him back into its grasp.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” He says stubbornly. Ironically, it’s probably the most bratty teenage thing he’s ever said.

“Yeah, well, you need to,” His dad retorts from the doorway. “We’ll be here when you wake up. Try and get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit to give you some more blood.” He smiles wryly and exits the room along with Maggie and Jesus, leaving Carl alone with Michonne.

Once they’re gone, the woman sighs wearily, appraising him again. His sluggish mind takes a moment to process the amount of sorrow in her features, the incredible amount of pain in her eyes. “Michonne?” He asks.

There’s a pregnant pause, and Carl watches as her bottom lip quivers, at the way her gaze flits back and forth between his face and to the wound in his abdomen.

“After you get better, Carl, your dad and I are going to have a serious talk with you about what happened back in Alexandria. About Negan, and what you tried to ask him to do. Even if you were trying to help, sacrificing yourself is not an option, okay? I don’t want to ever hear you talk like that again. We…” She stutters, the tears she’d been trying to hold back making their way down her cheeks, and Carl feels the guilt stab his innards in a way that hurt worse than the actual stab wound had. “If we lost you, I don’t know what we’d do. Your dad would never recover, and neither would I. Do you understand?”

She chokes back a sob and leans over to kiss the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair. Even in his drowsy state, he understands the magnitude of what she’s just said, what she’s needed to say to him alone. He leans into the touch, his eye wet. He feels every bit like a chastised child again.

“We all love you so much, Carl. Don’t for one second think winning this war is worth losing you, because it’s not. Just like your dad said, nothing in the world is worth that.”

“I’m sorry,” He slurs, his eye closing and his head leaning to the side of the soft pillow. He sinks into it, his breathing evening out. “I’m sorry I worried you. I love you, too.”

He falls back into slumber with her hand tightly holding his, and her whispering lovingly to him in the same way that his mother used to. And it’s not just a memory, anymore. It’s peaceful. It’s everything.

It’s home.   

-

Negan was furious.

His men seemed to think that he was just fucking around here, that he was playing some sort of game. That the rules, in whatever capacity, were made to be broken, disregarded like they meant nothing. They were about to find out real fucking quick how wrong they were, and what happened when they not only disobeyed, but ignored the limits set for them. His control with them had been starting to slip, as much as he was loathe to admit it. He needed to restore order here, and it needed to happen now.

They hadn’t even made it back to the Sanctuary before he’d ordered them all out of their trucks and their cars and from wherever the hell they’d been with whatever shit they’d been working on and into the gathering room. They were currently bent over with their noses pressed to the dirt and their heads bowed, and they’d been that way for well over several hours now. He knows that their necks have got to be cramping something awful, but he had a point to be made here, and it would be made, otherwise things were going to go south for all of them.

He swings Lucille close enough to some of the fuckers’ heads that they shudder, giving tiny little gasps of pure terror, and he can’t even bring himself to relish in it like he normally would. He walks slowly, extremely slowly, between the aisles, glaring down at every single one of them.  

“I thought I made myself clear,” He drawls. “I thought I made it  _ all  _ clear. I said it as plain as fuckin’ day and yet some of you stupid fucks don’t seem to be capable of following, not to mention comprehending, simple instructions. So let me rehash this shit right here and now.”

There’s some more sniveling, some people crying, some just shaking in their fuckin’ boots. They were lucky that he didn’t just splatter all of their goddamn brains on the floor, the dumb fucks. “I said that boy was  _ not _ to be harmed, and yet  _ someone _ thought it was a grand fucking idea to do it anyway. Now, I made a fine example out of him, but I need to say it again. From now on ward, if any of you go against any of my orders again, I will beat you to a goddamn pulp along with any other asshole who even looks at me or Lucille sideways. If I need to kill any more of you for going against me when I’ve given explicit instructions, I will. Do I make myself clear?”

A massive chorus of ‘yes, sir’s’ and ‘yes, Mr. Negan’ reaches his ears, and he stops in the middle of the room. Satisfied, he raises his hand, motioning for them all to get up.

“As you were!” He barks. “All of you out of my fucking sight before I start opening heads.”

Every single person is on their feet and out of the room before he can even raise Lucille again, and any other time, it would’ve sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. But right now, all he feels is tiredness. The adrenaline from the past couple of hours begins to finally wear off in the silence of the room, and he sighs, lowering himself onto the metal steps with his face in his hands.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Of Carl, lying in a heap on the ground with blood soaking through his shirt. Of Rick’s deer-in-the-headlights expression, like he was about to lose his fucking mind. Of how limp the boy was when Rick scooped him up in his arms effortlessly and looked over at Negan. How Rick had looked at him in a way that he never had before. It had been a desperate stare, a plea, maybe not something Rick had realized he’d done at the time but what was definitely a question for some kind of help. It had rattled Negan deep to his core, down into the marrow of his bones, and before he knew what he was doing, he was bashing in the asshole’s skull that had stabbed the child and hadn’t stopped until nothing but brain matter and blood splattered concrete remained. It hadn’t been one of his main guys, just an asshole nobody who Negan barely gave the time of day to. Tom, he thinks his name was. He doesn’t even care. The asshole didn’t deserve to be remembered by his name anyway. Negan had made quick work of him, not even able to enjoy it, heaving and wild-eyed in the same manner that Rick was. He’d looked back over to them, at the injured, unconscious boy in Rick’s arms and felt all of the rage leave his body. Instead, all he'd felt was terror.

“We have to get him to the infirmary,” The Hispanic woman had been saying, the one who’d shot Lucille. Negan had taken satisfaction in the fact that her bullet wound was still healing. “If we don’t stop the bleeding, he’s not going to make it.”

Rick and Michonne had looked over at Negan again, as if unsure if he was going to do something, and Negan had made the decision.

“We’re clearing out!” He’d bellowed. “Everyone get in the trucks and get the fuck out of here! I’m declaring a 24 hour ceasefire on both sides until we can all get our shit together!”

He and his people had taken off after that. He doesn’t know if the kid was still alive or not. But Carl Grimes was too much of a badass to get taken out by a damn stab wound, or by anything, really. It was stupid, but Negan thought of the kid as invincible. And yet seeing him on the ground like that, so incredibly injured, and how easily Rick had picked him up, he looked so vulnerable and so small. More than seeing the boy be stabbed though, he had been affected by Carl’s words before the teen had passed out.

The kid actually wanted his dad to spare him.

On the ride back to the Sanctuary, it was all he could think about. And now in the hollowness of the empty room, it felt like the boy’s presence was reverberating off the damn walls. Negan sighs, rummaging his hands over his face. “Fuckin’ hell, kid.” He sighs. If the boy died, Negan was going to make it his personal mission when he himself did to find the kid and kick his ass if any type of afterlife existed.

He knows that Rick was emotionally reeling right now, and normally he’d be soaking it up like a sponge, but not when a child that they both cared about had been hurt, and it had been done at Negan’s men’s hands. The cease fire would be a day, and a day only. He had to get his head back on straight. Whatever softness Carl had coaxed out of him would be stomped out regardless if the boy survived or not. They were in the middle of a war, and any affection he felt for the kid couldn’t linger when lives were at stake. His men were starting to go against him as it was, as Carl had said. He cursed the boy for being right. They were starting to catch on to Negan’s feelings, starting to see his connection to Rick’s son as a weakness. The fact that Carl had utilized it and used it to his advantage proved as much. If he’d paid more attention to what the kid had been doing, he could’ve nipped any attempt at evacuation in the bud and still managed to get them to surrender.

But Carl had played him, and played him well. He was still angry at the kid for doing that, but worry had managed to overplay it. He was torn between wanting to beat the hell out of Carl the next time he saw him again - and he was convinced there would be a next time - and hugging him. He almost laughed, imagining the sour puss look the kid would give him if he did.

Rick and his people would’ve relocated to Hilltop for refuge, so that was where he would strike next. He pushes the image of the one-eyed boy from his mind, and settles his lips into a determined grin. He gets the idea about the walker guts, coats all of the arrows and knives and whatever else they can find in them. Infected weapons would work in taking down Rick’s army quickly.  

Later that afternoon, he stands out over the courtyard, with Simon and Eugene flanking him, and stares down at the people sworn to serve him with a confidence that he doesn’t quite feel. “We attack at sundown,” He begins. “Tonight, we end this. Tonight, we obliterate those fucks and take the world for ourselves. Tonight, we win this war, and we make damn sure that no one ever fuckin’ crosses us again. Tonight, we make a new beginning for ourselves!” 

Tonight, it would be over for all of them.


End file.
